Nights of Assassins and Dancers
by orangutango
Summary: Cristina Vespucci has an undeniable prowess in the art of killing. Having been orphaned at the age of ten and taken under the Borgia's wing, she has been trained as their secret weapon against the Assassins and is finally given the grandest mission of her life: to infiltrate and destroy the Brotherhood and kill the Assassin Ezio Auditore.
1. Cristina

At the age of seven, Cristina Vespucci had begun to show undeniable prowess in very, well _unwomanly _skills.

The Vespucci family and the Borgias were fast friends, and once, while staying over in the magnificent Castel Sant' Angelo, a visiting Cardinal had decided to take advantage of the child's blossoming beauty and do some highly _unholy_ things with her. Cristina, was of course not having any of this and her lithe, nimble self had produced a blade (she claimed it was from the Castel's kitchen, but what kitchen stocks stiletto knives) and stabbed the Cardinal through the heart, before he could do so much as utter a prayer.

She was heavily reprimanded, and many cover up stories had to be made, but Rodrigo Borgia had begun to keep his watchful eye on the child.

So, at the age of ten, when the Vespucci family were attacked by Assassins while travelling to their holiday lodging in L'Aquila, the lone survivor was secretly adopted by Rodrigo Borgia. The Assassins it seemed had spared the child's life out of pity or maybe because killing children were beneath them.

Ever since then, Cristina Vespucci (she vehemently opposed adopting the Borgia name in respect of her parents) trained in secrecy, within the Castel, in the nearby catacombs and many times in the inky darkness of the night on the rooftop of the Castel, bathed in starlight and steel. Sometimes, she would be accompanied by Cesare. If a maid were to say, open a window on the top floor of the Castel, she would be greeted with the clangs of steel biting steel, the exchange of grunts and the quick shuffling of lithe feet. In fact, the two fighters had fought together for so many years that their fights resembled more of a dance, their moves so attuned to each other that each swing and swish of a sword, each spin of a body was accompanied by the moves of the other. Once one dancer would overpower the other, they would sink the steel of their blade into the ground beside their head, a solemn reminder that the enemy would have done a more direct, and final job.

On most nights, it was Cristina's blade that cut the ground near his eyes.

"Diavolo" Cesare grinned, as he was hauled up by Cristina's waiting hand. "The enemy will never see you coming"

Cristina sunk to her knees in a mocking bow.

"Grazie, _idiota" _she laughed. "But maybe when I fight the enemy, we will not have the luxury of you know, the night"

"Perhaps" Cesare said, brushing the dirt off his back "but perhaps we will. I find that attacking during the night gives us such a well-deserved advantage"

"Bene, coniglio" she smirked, sheathing her blade. Taunting the Pope's bastardo was a luxury not many had. In fact, Cesare Borgia, was an evil little pezzi di merda, and she would be reminded of this fact on a day to day basis, when she would see him berate and assault the maids of the Castel. The Pope however, had made sure to install within him high respect of Cristina Vespucci, so thankfully none of this evil had ever been directed at her. Well none in recent memory, she shuddered. Cesare, who was in deep thought thankfully missed this quiver of her shoulders.

"Cristina" Cesare said suddenly "I'll be asking something of you tomorrow, something very important. You'd do to agree, especially in front of my Father." Cristina cockd her head, her braid swinging around her face. She studied his expression with narrowed eyes. Thoughts raced around her head. She couldn't really think of anything too stupid she had done recently, well nothing that needed reprimanding.

"What do you want?" she asked, a bit suspiciously.

He gazed at her with hooded eyes, as if calculating her response and wiped his blade with his cloak. Silence. And then-

"A favor."

"Stronzo, spit it out" she urged. God, she thought. The melodrama could maybe possibly kill her.

Finally, he reached behind him and took out a crinkled page.

"Can you kill him?" he asked reservedly, handing over the page.

And really, as silly as it sounded, the Rome Cristina Vespucci knew and the common citizen knew were two different ones. Sometimes, she would sneak out disguised as a commoner, wearing cheap clothing and he hair drawn in front of her face like drapes and she would walk around the city, drinking in the sights and sounds and the smells (occasionally awful). But really, she felt like an outsider in the city she once knew so well. It was mainly the Pope's doing, as he made it clear that nobody was to find out about Cristina, not ever, clear with his intentions that she was meant for some higher purpose.

So really, she hadn't expected to recognize the face on the wanted poster.

But she did, and her heart dropped and her head spun and she felt herself fall back into another time, another life perhaps.

MORTI DI VIVO was splayed across the page and in careful script, under an old picture was a handsome reward of 50,000 florins.

Can you kill him, he had asked her again.

Of course she said.

Of course.


	2. Early Morning Commitments

She hadn't had the best sleep last night (that was an understatement) and in the early dawn she was awoken from her slumber by gentle hands. Agostina, her maid whom she appreciated dearly was trying to force her from her bed and she just wasn't going to have it today.

"Per favore Agostina" she whined, yanking the blankets over head "do not disturb me." She turned away from the older woman.

"Cristina, Cristina, Cristina" she sung "cara Cristina, Cesare has requested you." Agostina tried again to remove the blankets from her, with failure.

Cristina swore, and freeing a hand from the entrapment of the blankets, she began vigorously making crude hand gestures. "Tell that figlio di puttana that it is maybe illegal to wake someone up this early in the morning and that I am not having it."

Agostina slapped her hand down. "Cristina!" she chided, although Cristina could detect the hidden mirth in her voice "It is the Pope's order."

Cristina groaned and heaved her self upright. "Mio dio Agostina" she sighed sadly, rubbing sleep sand from her eyes. "I feel like the whole world is against me today."

And that's how she found herself crouched sleepily on a rooftop near the Castel. Cesare had sent her off to do some scouting along with a few incognito guards to look for "signs of the Assassins Brotherhood." In all honesty, she didn't know what signs to be looking for-were the Assassins going to do cartwheels in the streets of Roma? Would they openly declare their animosity for the Templars using signs, messages, anything? She didn't know. Cesare had been very vague when he had given her the orders. Truth be told she believed him putting up a ruse, trying to get her away from the Castel as to conduct meetings in privacy, away from light feet and sharp ears. Of course, she could not go too far from the Castel, and Cesare had seen to that by stationing guards nearby, keeping track of her in case she decided to escape.

That cazzo, she thought sleepily.

And of course, there was that thing from yesterday...

Maybe, it was not him. The hood covered most of the man's face in the picture and really, she couldn't be sure that it was the same person.

She pushed it out of her mind. And settled back into a crevice on the roof, her head falling onto her chest. Cesare had told her to remain vigilant and unseen, but this she thought, was unfair to ask of someone in the early morning. Anyways, the mist was thick enough up here that it provided a good enough cover...

"Signora you should not be up here" a deep voice bellowed, knocking her out of her sleep. The sun was blinding, and the man who loomed before her appeared dark and ominous against the light. She felt hands on her shoulder and she punched wildly, making contact with soft flesh.

The man cursed angrily and reached out as if meant to grab her hair, but she was already up and a sweeping kick brought the man to his knees and a blade to his throat.

"I meant no harm, Signora" the man-a guard pleaded. "I have two daughters."

Her breath came out in gasps and she had to take a moment to steady herself. She had never told anyone of dreams that pursued her night after night, of being ambushed when alone or assassinated in her sleep. She would never admit it but though she did not see eye to eye with Cesare on many things, he was still a presence, still a body that made her feel less alone, less vulnerable.

"It is quite alright" she said, dropping the man onto his knees. "Next time, don't touch a woman while she sleeps" she added, rather snappishly.

She took off then, her feet pounding against the shingles as if they had done her great personal wrong. She took care to avoid other rooftop guards and other various groups on the roofs-grubby thieves stood clustered together, whispering secrets and stretching their muscles. She thought they looked like cats, wired and ready to spring, agile and quick.

Homeless cats, she smirked.

She didn't feel quite at ease until she reached the Castel, slipping past the Papal Guards at the entrance.

"What is the meaning of this Cesare?" she shouted, as she stormed into the Papal Apartments. This was a ruse to get her away from the Castel and she was furious. How come she couldn't be part of any plans?

Cesare looked up, his gaze meeting hers and she realized he wasn't alone. A man, whom she had never seen before, stood up. He was very ugly, she couldn't help notice and yet he held himself high, his eyes full of contempt at the storm that hurled itself through Cesare's door.

"Puttana" he sneered. "Show the Borgia some respect."

In three strides, Cristina had crossed the room and slapped his face hard enough to send him reeling into a bookcase.

"Vaffanculo, stronzo" she spat. "Do not even dare give me a passing glance."

Cesare, who had been quietly watching the exchange with a sneer on his face, raised his hands.

"Enough" he drawled. "The Signora you have just been slapped by is none other than Cristina."

The man who was tenderly touching his face, looked up with widened eyes.

"Her?" he said incredulously. She shot him a withering look and he glanced away. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Cesare" Cristina hissed through gritted teeth. "What is going on?"

"What is going on" Rodrigo Borgia said as he strode into the room "is that plans have been being made, ever since you stepped into the Castel for you to bring death and destruction upon the Assassins Brotherhood."

Cristina froze, her heart thudding erratically. All those years training, fighting in the darkness, the seclusion...she was finally going to get some answers.  
>"My Lord" she said bowing her head in humble servitude, "what is it you require?"<p>

The Pope swept forward and placed a hand upon her shoulder."Burn the Brotherhood within" he said quietly "destroy all that the Assassin loves, and finally when he has been backed in the corner and when everything he has worked for has burned and perished-" Rodrigo Borgia slid a finger across his neck.

If jaws could hit the ground, Cristina's had thudded through the ground and crash landed in the lower floors.  
>She had always thought the Borgias did not trust her as she was never allowed in any planning or meetings. And yet here she was, being handed perhaps the task to end all tasks. How could one person ever do this much? How much faith could be put in one person? If she were to fail, the consequences would be...she didn't want to think of it. And yet the chance to exact revenge on the Assassins was something she had been waiting for for too long. She was in the prime of her fitness and the finesse of her art was unmatched. Her dance was powerful and strong and swift and deadly and she knew it, they all knew it.<p>

"I told you Father" Cesare said, with a twinkle of mirth in his coal eyes, "she's not ready. Look at her balk like a rabbit about to be speared" he laughed.

The Pope looked at her, an eyebrow arched in questioning. Father and son seemed to be challenging her both.

"All we need is your word, your infallible commitment to our cause" Rodrigo said, clasping his hands behind his back.

"My Lord, before I give you my consent I must ask" she began, squaring her shoulders. "Why not give this task to Micheletto Corella?"

Cristina Vespucci was not scared of many people, but she was petrified of Micheletto Corella. Cesare's personal assassin and closest confidant, she would many times see him striding the halls of the Castel in all his haughty glory. Micheletto was a sadist, and took great pleasure in killing. It did not help that he was unfairly gifted at it either.

"Micheletto" Rodrigo said "is busy with other affairs. And, he is too well known to the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood however does not know that you exist."

Nor does anyone outside the Castel, she wanted to say but she bit her tongue. And yet her body tingled and her blood bubbled in eagerness.

The chance to destroy the Assassins, she thought almost dreamily.

She would be glorified for centuries to come. A hero of the Templars. There would be poems written of her, songs and myths. And more than that, she would finally, finally avenge the murder of her parents.

Meeting his gaze, she bowed her head. "My life is yours, Rodrigo Borgia."


	3. For the Greater Good

**Author's note**: SORRY guys, I've been so so busy with school that I've kinda been really lazy updating this and again I want to apologize. But hey it's 4 am rn and I'm updating and that's somehow got to atone for my sins. Thanks for sticking with me and reading my silly words, you guys are the BEST.

Also, I'm sorry if the spacing seems a little off-I can't really figure out how to break the story into sections? Like i swear i tried using dashes and asterisks and other stuff but it doesn't show up? I'll try working around that for the next chapter.

* * *

><p>Roma, was an assault to the senses. She flew around the streets in the shadows of looming buildings, passing throngs of citizens who strode about nonchalantly, remarking of the weather, eating fruit, and acting, well, quite normal.<p>

Of course, there were a few rambunctious ones- a man began shoving another in a heated argument over accusations of infidelity.

There was the herald, whom commanded the rapt attention of many straggling citizens. He reminded the citizens to avoid rooftop shenanigans. She stood there a while, pretending to listen to him. The wind picked up the tendrils of her hair and blew them about, and she felt airy and light.

A normal life, she thought. Now that was a treasure, si.

Smiling sweetly, she had pulled Cesare into an empty apartment and closed the door.

"Cristina" he said, raising his hands. "You're furious. Everyone realizes it. It was for the best that we thought to leave you out of-"

"-Everything" she cut in, folding her arms in front of her. "Every single thing. Did none of you realize that this is about my life? You all comfortably discuss the perils I will endure and yet you let me on nothing. Explain."

"Yes. But think Cristina! Think! You will be living under our enemy's roof. Your every move will be scrutinized. Even the slightest misstep, or an offhand remark will mar our efforts-"

"Do you think" she interrupted "that I am stupid enough to do that" "Where do you live?" "Oh, just at the Castel. With Cesare Borgia" Why are you here? Oh to, you know, destroy your Order"

"Shut up" he snapped. "And what about when you've drunk a bit too much? In the heat of a moment?"

"So what? Are you implying I have no self-control?" she glared, setting her jaw.

"Of course you do" He brushed a strand of dark hair away from his eyes, and took her hands in his. She tried to wrest them away from his grip but he held on, his grip tightening around hers like shackles.

Whenever males lay a hand on her, she would feel compressed, unable to breathe. Like right now. Cristina Vespucci was a woman who needed her space.

"Mio dio, Cristina" he said quietly, his eyes pouring into hers "I cannot see any fire in your eyes? Perhaps the flames of revenge have died down?"

"Do not ever say that to me" she whispered, a flash of anger rising like bile to her throat. "Anger simmered is still anger. I have been conditioned as a woman of the House to abide by Borgia etiquette, and yet my anger simmers Cesare. It is still there."

He threw his head back and laughed. "Like wine Cristina? An anger matured tastes best of all?" His eyes danced with cold mirth.

"That is it" she nodded, and with a shove, she freed her hands from his vice grip.

She remembered quietly confessing to Cesare during one of their rooftop session years ago about refraining from mentioning her parents so nonchalantly in front of her. He had crowed in laughter and had demanded why not? They were once proud, loyal Templars he said, parrying her strokes in quick succession.

Because, she had wanted to scream, they were more than Templars. They were a mother's warm embrace, a father's over-protectiveness, a space where she once felt so belonged, so cared for, so loved. How could she tell that to the dark power hungry boy who stood in front of her, so blind to these simple things? Her arms had shook so badly the blade had quivered in her hand.

She remembered lying in bed later that night, sleep unable to claim her stormy mind.

If she had done something that day, maybe, maybe they would have survived.

Really, her life was pledged to Rodrigo's. For taking her in. Out of pity, out of something else. She could have lived in one of her parents estates somewhere far away from here, maybe in L'Aquila, but would she have been able to bear the loneliness? The guilt? Would she be able to bring down the Assassins from there?

At the age of ten when the Castel maids had treated the burns and calmed her screams she had secretly pledged herself to the Templar cause. And when her sniffling ten year old self had tugged on Rodrigo Borgia's sleeve and shakily whispered into his ear her desire the approval on his face was blinding.

Emerging from her reverie, a thought struck her discordantly. And then it occurred to her-why hadn't she asked this before? She wanted to blame it on a slip of the mind, but she knew, she knew somewhere deep down that she was avoiding the question altogether. Out of fear? Out of pity? Out of something else entirely?

"What is his name?" she asked Cesare, her voice reserved. "On the poster"

Cesare smirked. "I thought you'd never ask"

Ezio Auditore da Firenze.

It rolled off her tongue like a song and perhaps it was an ode to the past, fate's cruel reminder of better times.

He hadn't told her his name that day. Nor had she told him hers.

What they did exchange: tantalizing secrets. (And some other things).

Secrets that were meaningless to the other's ear.

Mio dio, she thought. Fate was the cruelest thing.

She paced the streets of Roma in an ill-fitting tunic and a grubby skirt- she rather missed the Castel's flouncy dresses and thick skirts. She had made her way near the outskirts of the Centro District. Scouting from atop a building, she could see Trastevere, in all its dilapidated glory. She blinked at the citizens, who staggered around in rags, frail to the bone, begging for coin. Men slumped on the ground, lining the sides of buildings.

It took her a while to choose the perfect place. Tucked into Centro District was a decently sized square. The roofs were high enough to provide substantial cover. Ample enough vantage area. She could pick off advancing guards from behind chimneys.

Also, the square buzzed with activity. The Assassin would hear of any disturbances quickly.

Although she knew his name, she didn't mull it around in her mind.  
>She wouldn't let him have that power over her.<p>

And when he was finally dead, Rodrigo Borgia would be so proud of her. The Borgias would celebrate her existence. She would be written into history books with a golden quill. When she was long gone, Templars would speak of her in awe. Of a woman (a woman!) who single-handedly destroyed the Assassin Brotherhood from within.

Roma's Assassins branch would be but a forgotten blip in history. Unnecessary. Fizzled out. Like a firework.  
>Fireworks and butterflies.<br>She pushed it to the back of her mind.  
>She didn't know him<br>He didn't know her  
>There would be no feelings.<br>Besides, she thought.  
>It was one night. Maybe two thousand years ago.<p>

She paced in the shadows of a fruit stall. The stall owner yelled his wares to the clumped crowds, milling about aimlessly as if they got paid to do nothing with their lives. A thought struck her.

Was she jealous?

She pursed her lips. Perhaps. How would it feel like-doing nothing? Socializing, shopping, laughing-the kinds of laughs that started from the core of a stomach and burst from mouths like birds freed from cages. When was the last time she laughed like that? she wondered, looking at the group of young males and females shaking in mirth, holding onto each others shoulders.

It took a great deal of effort to tear her eyes away and refocus at the task on hand. Kneeling down slightly, she felt for the pouches of goods that were hidden in the folds of the very ordinary skirt she wore. Throwing knives. Smoke bombs.

A sleeve disguised a dagger, its cool metal pressed into her warm skin.

Running her fingers through her hair, she smiled.

She would much rather have a purpose in life than spend her life joking and laughing. Time was not lenient to those who did not respect it, she reminded herself.

Cesare had revealed to her exactly how to lure the Assassino. And it was far simpler than she would have thought.

"He recruits mongrels from the street" Cesare laughed "so go and become one. Attack the guards and wait for the Assassin to bite."  
>Rodrigo Borgia gave her his blessings, assuring her that the guards that would die today would not be in vain.<p>

"Cristina" he said "We all must serve for the greater good."

For the greater good, she had breathed back.  
>And he was right. Any remorse, or guilt she had felt about the plan dissipated when Rodrigo Borgia put his hand on her shoulder.<br>What was she anyways? She thought.  
>A weapon for the greater good.<br>They all had a part to play in the destruction of the Assassins. If she died along the way, well, that would be disastrous. She wasn't planning on dying anytime soon. But if she did, then assuredly she would have played her part out to the fullest. Cristina Vespucci never disappointed.  
>And her parents would slumber content in eternity. Their murders finally avenged.<br>Stone Cold Cristina, Cesare had called her once.  
>Cool, unrelenting. Strong, aloof.<p>

She began her ascent up the nearest building, her legs slinging almost effortlessly up the bricks, her feet finding purchase again and again as if climbing up buildings was as easy as strolling down a street. So absorbed in her thoughts was she that she didn't realize the large crowd that collected beneath her.  
>"Is she insane?" Someone shouted. "Come down here! Your family will be worried sick!"<br>"Jump amore mio!" Someone else shouted "I will catch you, I promise. And then bed you!"  
>She smirked at the crowd. So this was how Rodrigo felt like, giving mass and speeches in front of audiences. Loved. Adored.<br>Idiots.  
>"What the hell are you doing?" A guard shouted from the adjacent rooftop. "Do you have a death wish perchance?" He jumped the distance between the two roofs and promptly jogged towards her. He didn't touch the crossbow on his back.<br>She smiled.  
>"Stupid girl, you must get down. You will kill yourself if you fall from here" the guard huffed. His eyes were stern, his stance unafraid.<br>And then he grabbed her arm.  
>A fast spin, and she unwound herself from his grasp. The crook of her elbow found its way around her neck.<p>

The citizens, who had been raucously cat calling her before now began yelling.  
>"What is your name" she said in his ear, quietly.<br>"Lady" he choked "what is going on? Let go of me!"  
>"Your name" she said again. There was a tremor in her voice and she wondered if he could hear it.<br>"Eduardo Vettorio, have-have I done anything wrong Signora?" he stammered.  
>"Vettorio" she repeated. "I am really sorry." Realization struck his face.<br>"My kids" he screamed "and my wife-she will, how will she-" he wrestled against her grasp, trying to reach for the crossbow behind his back. "You fucking whore" he shouted. Cried. "What have I done wrong?"

She gazed into his streaming brown eyes, and saw his fear, unbound, wild. He was not ready to die. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Something else-a clean beard. Had his wife cut it for him?

_Mio Dio_, she thought suddenly. What would happen to his wife? And kids?

She was going to vomit.

_For the greater good, _Rodrigo's voice drifted into her ears like a sudden dawning of cool clarity. Commanding. Soothing.

Her eyes snapped upwards, away from the writhing man.  
>"Requiescat in pace Eduardo Vettorio" she said quietly, and the crack of his windpipe seemed to reverberate across the square. Ripping the crossbow from his back, she threw his body over the roof. The crowd screamed, pushing each other to get away from the crashing body. Like scattering cockroaches.<p>

When she looked down next, she saw the square milling with guards. Shouting, pointing. Around her, guards from distant rooftops raced towards her, arming their crossbows. She plastered herself behind a chimney.

_Don't come near me_, she wanted to scream. _There is no hope. Go back to your families._

And then-

_For the greater good._

Arming the crossbow, she shot three guards in quick succession. The quiet crunch of shingles alerted her to the presence of someone behind her. She whipped around and sunk a throwing knife into the chest of the advancing guard.

This would be a massacre. A blood bath.

It was almost too easy, being atop the roof. She chose to maim the guards in the square, peppering their legs with bolts, as they crashed to the ground. A pair of courtesans ran screaming from the throng, their jewel toned clothing glinting warmly in the afternoon light.

She hoped the guards would appreciate being useless from the legs down rather than dead. As each body slumped to the ground Rodrigo's voice drawled through her ears._For the greater good. _She thought maybe his voice was an anchor, stopping her from breaking down.

The guards who lay crumpled on the ground yelled for their archers.

Archers?

She heard it before it hit her. A quick swish and a thunk, an ecstatic shout.

Red paint. But it was not and she was not fooling herself, but why did it take her so long to rip her eyes away from the blossoming wound on her shoulder?

Brilliant crimson, a color even the strongest sunsets would be jealous of.

A swish and a thunk, and another arrow found its purchase. Her left thigh. She felt the warm liquid gush out of the wound.

The scream tore through the square was of pure agony.

It was entirely new to her.

But the arrows didn't hurt her. Instead, what was happening? She didn't recognize the surge in energy, the rapt, decisive movement of her hands and arms. The shafts splintered in her hand.

She silenced the maimed guards with bolts to their heads.

Spinning around, she spotted the archers, their bows sticking out behind smoking chimneys.

She vanished in the burst of a smoke bomb.

When she finally made it up the roof, she barely balked at the realization that someone had gotten to the archers before her. They stared glassy eyed at her, throwing knives embedded deep in their chests.

Lunging forward, she ripped the knives out and stabbed their chests again and again.

Again and again.

Again and again.

Blood gushed into her face, her hair, until she was a walking sunset.

She staggered back into the square-was she alive? Or was she a ghost carrying out her last rites? Perhaps.

Ignoring the moans of the guards scattered around her, she stepped forward shakily.

And then-

The hooded man appeared across the square, as if dropped from the sky. He strode towards her quickly, his hands raised in a show of solidarity. His scarlet robes shimmered in her tear glazed eyes.

The world also decided to sway at that precise moment and suddenly Cristina felt very vulnerable. Exposed.

Cesare? she squinted, but his profile remained in shadow. She staggered towards him.

She managed a slight grin. _Cazzo,_ she mouthed. She couldn't find her voice.

The hooded man paused and turned his head almost quizzically.

_I'm sorry,_ she mouthed, staggering forward until she crashed into him.

She raised her arms like an infant and finally, finally the pain which had lapped at her before surged upwards and pulled her under.

She collapsed on the spot, and would have hit the ground quite hard if it had not been for the man who steadied her, leaping forward at the last second to catch her head before it made contact with the stone.

Taking a moment to look around him, he stood up, cradling her body in his arms. Quietly, he made his way through a darkened inroad, disappearing into the waiting throng of courtesans who stood surreptitiously in the shadows.


End file.
